My son is obsessed with Star Wars. At four and a half he is far too young to actually watch the movies, but he gazes longingly at the action figures when we go to toy stores, He discusses the characters and their various capabilities. Some days he is Yoda and some days he is Chewbacca. When he carries his little sister's diaper bag (he's a little helper monkey sometimes) he insists on putting the strap across his chest, in his words, "Like an Ewok."
Naturally, he yearns to become a Jedi and wield a light sabre. He talks about getting one when he is "older," say five. (He also thinks that is when he will learn how to drive. He plans to get married when he is six.)
What he doesn't know (and won't learn until he can read, access the Internet and find this blog) is that years ago, before he was born, I bought a plastic toy light sabre at a Woolworths. I never took it out of its package. It is sitting in his closet.
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